Clarice and Hannibal and the Baby!
by Peking Prawn
Summary: Here it is, after a long wait, chapter 2... Clarice and Hannibal are arguing... were they really right for each other?
1. the way things are now

by: my friend, Peking Prawn...  
she's still trying to remember her password so i'm posting it up here for her!  
  
as usual, reviews would be nice!  
  
*~*~*~*  
  
It was dark when the silver jaguar XJL pulled up outside the hotel. A heavily pregnant woman got out and tipped the driver, she opened one of the back doors and got out a large bag. The woman struggled with the bag before giving up, she left it on the path as she walked up to the front entrance as fast as she could in her present state. When she arrived at the door, a bellboy was waiting to collect her luggage, she gestured breathlessly to the bag sitting on the curb.  
  
"It's back there." She puffed.  
  
As the bellboy went to get the bag, she walked into the hotel. After checking in, she went into the bar and ordered an orange juice. As she sat down a tall, broad man in an off white coloured suit, with a blue silk shirt and matching fedora sat beside her.  
  
"Well, well, well, this is truly a surprise, EX-Special Agent Starling." he murmured in her ear. then he ordered a brandy.  
  
"What are you doing here, Doctor Lecter?" She hissed at him, then thanked and tipped the waiter when her orange juice and his brandy arrived.  
  
"Now, now, little Starling, you wouldn't be trying to blow my cover now, would you?" He said, another mind game set.  
  
"Look," she snapped at him, "it's over, Hannibal, face it." She stood, "Expect to hear about maintenance from my lawyer." And with that, she walked off, a triumphant look about her.  
  
Hannibal watched as she left the bar. He blinked a couple of times and downed the rest of his brandy, it had an odd taste to it now Clarice was mad at him. He decided to leave the bar too, it was getting stuffy and too hot, he was beginning to sweat. He most certainly did not want to blow his cover... would Clarice do such a thing?  
  
*~*~*~*  
  
Clarice was in the shower. The hot water felt good on her aching back. She thought about Hannibal and then the new baby. She thought about their wedding in "the city of romance," Paris. After all, it wasn't safe for them to go to Florence,   
  
~getting arrested on your honeymoon would certainly be a memory, wouldn't it?~   
  
Clarice thought to herself, and then chuckled at the picture she had in her head of her husband protesting that he was not Dr Hannibal 'the cannibal' Lecter and he was on his honeymoon... that WAS an entertaining thought.  
  
Sighing, she turned off the water and looked around for a bath robe. Finding one, she put it on and went into the bedroom. At $750 a night, the bed had to be comfortable. Her auburn hair hung damp around her shoulders, clarice tugged at a knot. She picked up the phone and dialed room service.  
  
"Yeah, hi, umm... can i get a dish of pickles, a box of doughnuts and a bottle of Jack Daniel's, please?" after all, she was getting depressive, time to drown her sorrows. "SHIT! no, alcohol, bollocks!"   
  
When her food (and drink) arrived, Clarice seized the tray and shoved a generous tip into the waiters hands and slammed the door shut. Ripping open the cardboard container, she noticed a piece of expensive stationary, folded neatly with her name written on it in a fine copperplate script, sitting atop the doughnuts. Dropping the thoroughly iced doughnut back into the box, Starling took the note out of the box.  
  
~do i really want to read this?~ she asked herself...  
  
*~*~*~*  
  
Should Prawn write more? tell me in your reviews... 


	2. pond water and table lamps

Clarice lay back on the bed and reached for the tray. Selecting the most heavily iced doughnut in the box and loading it with pickles she sat back to read the note.  
  
Written in a fine copperplate hand it read:  
  
There was a little starling  
It flew far from the nest  
The evil little tomcat  
Ripped open its brown breast  
  
Shuddering Clarice pushed the note aside and got to work on her doughnuts and pickles. When they were all gone she looked longingly at the bottle of JD. It would be a shame to waste it she thought. Heaving her large weight up from the bed she padded over to the little bathroom with the bottle.  
  
Taking the glass from the side she poured a tiny bit of JD into the glass and watered it down severely. In the end it was more the colour of water than the normal dark brown.  
  
"Here goes nothing." she said out loud and downed the murky liquid. It tasted like pond water. Spitting the foul tasting liquid into the sink Clarice glared at the bottle. Smelling the supposed Jack Daniels she recoiled at the smell... it WAS pond water.  
  
"Hannibal Lecter. You are a dead man." She spat.  
  
Walking back into the room Ex-special agent Starling changed from the bathrobe into a set of rather more acceptable clothes to go and find a receptionist.  
  
The blonde, bubble-gum chewing receptionist was busying filing her nails when Clarice came into the foyer. She thought of what name the doctor might have used, he'd have to be completely stupid to use his real name.  
  
"Do you know what room Dr Chilton is in? She questioned, a slight edge of agitation to her voice. The receptionist clacked about on the keyboard. Checking the results of her search, she shook her head.  
  
"Sorry, we don't have anyone here under that name."  
  
"Lecter?"  
  
The receptionist, obviously not knowing WHO doctor Lecter was, clicked and clacked about again... "Nope." was the reply. After going through a long list of surnames including Krendler, Noonan, Pearsall and Crawford, she tried her own surname as a last ditch effort, "Starling?"  
  
"Yes we do have a Dr Starling, Henry Starling," the receptionist seemed to feel the need to publicly swoon, Clarice rolled her eyes, "He's in room number 967. Floor 9." The receptionist said hurriedly and got back to her nails and gum.  
  
Thanking the receptionist Clarice waddled down the hallway towards the elevator. Once inside she pressed the button for floor 9. On the journey up she thought about why she and Hannibal were getting a divorce.  
  
*~*~*~*  
  
"For Gods sake Hannibal! It's just a lamb chop! So it's a bit tough. It's still edible isn't it?" she remembered screeching at him when he had complained about her cooking one day. "Despite what you may think they don't teach you how to cook at the FBI. Since you're so good at cooking maybe you should make dinner!"  
  
*~*~*~*  
  
However that wasn't why they had split up. Though it had contributed. Hannibal's eating was another thing that hadn't helped.   
  
*~*~*~*  
  
"If you must do that don't you ever bring it any where near me! What do you think our neighbours think of you coming home from doing god only knows what your mouth covered in blood. At least wipe your mouth before you come home."   
  
*~*~*~*  
  
As two businessmen got into the lift at the third floor, Clarice started thinking of where it had started going downhill. The honeymoon. They had been staying in a small hotel not far from the Eiffel Tower. The couple had the money to stay in the largest hotel in Paris but Hannibal had put his foot down there.  
  
*~*~*~*  
  
"If we stayed in a larger hotel then we stand a greater chance of being recognised by people." When Clarice had started to react he said "American tourists stay in big flashy hotels to show that they can afford it." So after a large argument she had consented to stay in the smaller hotel. It had put a dark cloud over the rest of the honeymoon but nothing was said.  
  
*~*~*~*  
  
Feeling the baby kick Clarice smiled. There was one thing they agreed on. The child hadn't been planned but it was what was wanted.   
  
When they reached the ninth floor Clarice got out and found the right room. Assuming her best "hands up" face she knocked hard on the door. "It's open, my dear." Came a smooth voice from the room. Swallowing her pride she walked in.  
  
A few moments later screaming could be heard from the end of the hallway. A couple hurried back to their room and a bellboy dropped the cases he was carrying.  
  
In the room the argument was getting violent. Clarice had picked up a table lamp and was waving it wildly. Hannibal however was sitting in a chair quite unperturbed by a pregnant woman waving a lamp in his face.  
  
"Have you quite finished Clarice?" he said when she paused for breath. Clarice threw him a stony glare and flopped down on to the bed opposite him, still holding the lamp.  
  
"You are a complete bastard." She said panting slightly. "What did you do that to my JD for?"  
  
"It's not good for a woman in your... condition." He said, choosing his words wisely since her hormones had decided to go A.W.O.L.  
  
"MY CONDITION?! Just WHO was it that put me in this 'condition' in the first place exactly?" Clarice ranted at him, gripping the lamp so tightly, her knuckles were white.  
  
"Why, that would be me." the good doctor raised a hand.  
  
"Yeah... and what are you going to do about it?"  
  
"Under the circumstances, nothing as yet... I'll think about it..." he shrugged and stood, approaching the mini-bar. Whether it was because he wanted to rub it in, or he just needed some, he pulled out a bottle of Dom Perignon and two champagne flutes. "Oops, my mistake... mountain spring for you." he said, pouring water into one of the flutes and handing it to her, before proceeding to pour himself some of the expensive champagne.  
  
"You," she began, taking a sip of water, "are by far THE MOST arrogant, cocky, intelligent men I have ever and most probably will ever know, and yet, you can seem to be so stupid at times." She said, chuckling. He raised a brow. "You think that a glass of water's really gonna bug me? I'm not all that partial to champagne anyway, and you know it." Clarice explained.  
  
"I don't like Jack Daniel's." He told her.  
  
"You don't like any Jack's... or, for that matter William's..." Clarice retaliated.  
  
"True... but, I seem to have taken an interest in one Clarice Starling..." Lecter said, putting his glass down and taking hers away. "How on Earth it all went downhill, I haven't a clue..." he went on, approaching her, "But, I'm sure we'll pick up where we left off..." he said, bringing his face to hers, exaggerating the 'f' in 'off'. Clarice, however, was wise to this game already and responded by slapping him across the face, hard enough to leave a mark for the rest of the day. She heaved her weight from his bed and left his room, waddling down the hall, into the elevator and back to her room.   
  
~ That went well... ~ she thought to herself as she took some water from her own mini-bar. At least she had mountain spring water to keep her going... 


	3. drunken doctors and ex FBI agents

A/N: thankie for the reviews... it's been a while since this was updated, enjoy. PP  
  
*~*~*~*  
  
The next few days passed without incident. The couple passed each other in the halls and glared at each other from across the dining room. Well, Clarice glared, Hannibal smiled a sweet smile that had undertones of menace. One day, a few weeks after the table lamp incident, the hotel had a ball to celebrate its 50th anniversary. The dress code was strictly smart and so Clarice had to go out and buy a dress for the ball. She got a cab to the nearest large town and hit the mall. Firstly she went into a small shop that claimed to sell maternity wear. In fact it didn't but it did sell a rather familiar black dress with a plunging neckline and no back. It brought back memories of the Chesapeake lake house and Paul Krendlers brain. Unaware of what was happening around her Clarice touched the back of her neck where her hair had been trapped in the fridge. Then finally wrenching herself away from the dress Clarice left the store and found a place that sold maternity eveningwear.   
  
When she got back to the hotel Clarice had a long bath and got dressed. Her new dress was black with gold hems and buttons. Not her usual taste but it was that or a brown tweed suit! Then she went downstairs and joined the other guests moving towards the large room set aside for dancing. She spotted Hannibal halfway through the evening, wearing his usual cream tailored suit, being hit on by a 60- odd year old woman wearing too much make-up and large strings of pearls. She started laughing at the discomfort on his face and then found she couldn't stop. The people next to her were giving her odd looks, so she got up and went to the bar to order a Mountain Spring.   
  
  
  
Towards the end of the evening Clarice started having strange pains in her stomach.  
  
  
  
"Bloody brilliant!" She muttered to herself. "You," she said glaring at her bump," have the same excellent timing as your father!"  
  
  
  
Leaving her seat Clarice left the dancing room and went outside. She was being followed by Hannibal. When they reached the swimming pool she bent down and pulled a small handgun out her stocking.  
  
  
  
"Hands up! I know your there!" she said whirling round to face her husband. "How stupid do you think I am? Wait! DON'T answer that." She snapped. " I have had FBI training you know! I can track people for miles and hear when people are coming. I mean you're not exactly stealthy at the best of times but after HOW many bottles of champagne do you think I couldn't hear you?"   
  
  
  
Turning back round to face the swimming pool Clarice suddenly had an idea. Looking over her shoulder she beckoned to Hannibal. He stumbled drunkenly towards her. Carefully Clarice backed towards the pool. When they were near the edge she stepped sideways and watched Hannibal fall head first into the pool. Collapsing on the grass with laughter Clarice watched him floundering in the pool. 


	4. green surgical masks

An hour later Clarice was sat in the bar nursing a glass of Mountain Spring. Hannibal had gone to dry off and she didn't want to be around when he re-appeared. Downing the last of her drink she stood up and wobbled. Gripping the bar for support she edged along and out the door. Reaching the elevator she pushed the button and travelled up to her room. As she waddled along the corridor whilst trying to retain her dignity Clarice felt uneasy as she reached her door. It was open a crack and as she pushed it open she wasn't surprised to see Hannibal towelling himself off. She sighed deeply pushed the door shut. Leaning back against the door she closed her eyes and took a deep breath.  
"What are YOU doing here?" she demanded her green eyes flashing. She noted with some annoyance that he had set out glasses and a bottle of Mountain Spring and a second bottle of Dom Perignon. For the second time in a matter of weeks people ran for cover as the ceilings shook. "Have you no respect for my privacy!" She shrieked. Hannibal sat there with an amused look on his face. Clarice glared at him and grabbed the towel from his lap. She dabbed her face and hissed at him.  
"My dear," Hannibal said gently, "Is it wise for a woman, in your…state to be acting this violently?" Clarice was too tired to reply so she just waved her hand irritatedly and picked up the bathrobe lying on the floor. She also noticed with some embarrassment that a dirty pair of underwear lay on the floor by the bed. Kicking them under the bed she moved as if to remove her clothes but remembered her husband just before. Hannibal sat in his chair looking as if he was about to laugh. "Come now surely you can undress in front of your husband?" Hannibal said.  
"If I had a husband I'd happily get undressed in front of him." Clarice retorted. Hannibal looked crestfallen. He stood up and opened the door. He looked sadly at Clarice and said:  
"I suppose this is goodbye?" "Don't let the door hit you on the way out." She snapped.  
When he was gone Clarice sat down. She looked miserably at the Dom Perignom and the mountain spring. With a groan of disgust she threw the bathrobe over the tray and undressed. Once in bed she leaned over to the nightstand and grabbed a magazine. She leafed through it and read a feature on cosmetic surgery. After that she threw it on the floor and turned out the light. She lay awake for several hours and then fell into an uneasy sleep. Her dreams were filled with mountain spring and Buffalo Bill, the reason why Clarice and Hannibal had met in the first place.  
  
She awoke in a cold sweat, the dawn light streaming through the window and onto her face. Her chest was heaving and the sheets were in a heap on the floor. Clarice swung her legs out of bed and reached for the light switch. Staggering to her feet she rubbed her back and reached for the bathrobe covering the tray. Putting it on Clarice shuffled to the little bathroom and looked at her reflection. Her hair was sticking up in large tufts, her face was pale and she hadn't taken her makeup off the night before so she had large black circles under her eyes. Clarice reached for a piece of cotton wool and made a feeble attempt to wipe off the old makeup. After a few tries she gave up and threw the cotton wool at the mirror.  
  
Wandering along the deserted corridors of the hotel, Clarice reflected on the previous night and what had passed between the couple. She was actually quite surprised she hadn't broken anything in her attempt to shoo Hannibal out of the room. Opening the door leading out of the breakfast room she breathed the early morning air and though about times when she had gone running early in the mornings. She thought about her friend and old roomie (?) Ardelia Mapp, she thought about Jack Crawford and the fish market massacre. Sighing she sat down on one of the large stone steps and wrapped a hand around a nearby stone carving.  
  
"You can never go back," came a familiar voice from behind her. "You know what they would do." She turned her head and her eyes rested on a familiar figure. Clarice rolled her eyes and grunted. She wasn't in the mood for Hannibal's mind games and she certainly wasn't in the mood for a fight. In fact she had started feeling slightly queasy. He moved a few steps closer and Clarice pushed herself up and hobbled down the last few steps. She turned round to face him. He was wearing a cream linen suit and a red cravat. He had a large leather suitcase beside him and as Clarice rested her forehead wearily in her hands he picked it up and walked silently to where his white Bentley was waiting.  
  
That was the last Clarice heard of Hannibal for a week. She spent them walking through the expansive hotel grounds and shopping for baby clothes. Sadly they had to be ambiguous, as neither of them knew the sex. However on the Sunday of that week, when Clarice's usual supper of doughnuts and pickles were brought up there was a familiar cream envelope on the tray. "Did you see who left this?" she demanded. The waiter looked a little nervous at being shouted at by a pregnant woman. He shook his head and explained that it had been left on the reception desk, with orders for it to be taken up to her. Clarice thanked the waiter and pushed a tip into his hand. It was only after the event that she realised she had given a much larger tip than she intended to do.  
  
Cursing herself, she flopped onto the bed and gingerly poked the doughnuts. A large clump of icing came away and she licked it off her finger. The envelope dropped to the floor and she reached down to pick it up. She felt a twinge in her back and she straightened up quickly. Ignoring her stomach cramps she lay back to read the letter, written in an irritatingly similar copperplate script.  
  
The letter started out complaining about the clothes she had bought that week for their child, saying did they really expect their child to wear cheap cotton and polyester? Then it started rambling about 'where did we go wrong?' Clarice read on rubbing her stomach. She suspected he had been drunk at the time, an occurrence which had never occurred when they were married, and to her knowledge before they were married, but was becoming a more regular occurrence.  
  
Finally the pain started to annoy her. She got up and started walking around the room. She tried deep breathing but that didn't work. After fifteen minutes or so of deep breathing Clarice gave up and walked slowly to the grounds for a walk. The last thing she remembered was walking towards a small group of trees, thinking she could sit down amongst them for a while. Then the ground was suddenly rushing up to meet her and everything went black.  
  
When she came to she found herself in a small, but attractive room. She was wearing a green hospital gown and Hannibal was looking over her. A green surgical mask obscured his face, and his blue eyes, by use of coloured contact lenses, twinkled. Clarice looked around and saw a large collection of surgical instruments that, quite frankly, she didn't want to know how they were used.  
  
"Hello Clarice," he murmured. He dabbed her forehead with a damp cloth and left the room momentarily. When he came back he had another man in green surgical clothing and wearing a pair of latex gloves.  
  
"Right Doctor Fell shall we begin?" the other doctor asked, who's nametag read 'Doctor Reynolds'. A nod came from 'Doctor Fell' and he held her shoulders and put his mouth close to her ear.  
"This is going to hurt me more than it hurts you," he whispered.  
  
"I highly doubt that." Clarice retorted sarcastically. Hannibal smiled sardonically and patted her face gently. At the end of the bed Doctor Reynolds was doing things, she didn't want to know about with the instruments that she didn't want to know how they were used. Hannibal leant over and picked up a syringe full of clear liquid. Pulling up her arm he injected the fluid into Clarice's veins.  
  
"This will make you feel a little woozy." Came Hannibal's calm voice. The last coherent thing Clarice remembered saying was:  
"What are you doing down there?"  
  
During the next 9 hours, as Hannibal would later recall to her, Clarice shouted out numerous embarrassing things. These included ramblings about fruit and how her first love was the FBI but now they didn't want her, who would? At this point Clarice was reduced to tears and was inconsolable for the next hour and a half. After Doctor Reynolds told her to be quiet just for the next contraction, she sat up in outrage. "Do you know who I am? I am in the Guinness Book of Records!" Hannibal reached down a comforting hand to stroke her face but she batted it away in irritation.  
"Don't you patronise me Hannibal Lecter!" No sooner were the words out of her mouth, did she, even in her present state, regret them. Doctor Reynolds' head shot up and looked suspiciously at the pair. The couple laughed nervously and Doctor Reynolds remarked silently that the woman was remarkably coherent and could hold a good conversation for someone under the influence of Pethodine.  
  
Hannibal moved towards the door and as he left gave Clarice a warning glance. She pulled a face and wiped her forehead. Somewhere near her legs Doctor Reynolds was telling her to push. Her eyes bulged as she pushed and she lay her head back down on the pillow.  
  
Somewhere in her mind Jack Crawford was talking to her about the Buffalo Bill case. "He's making a woman suit!" she blurted out and then laughed manically. This Pethodine stuff was good!  
  
Paul Krendler flashed through her mind. 'Letch' she thought through the fog. His brain had tasted worryingly good though. The lake house really had added that special something to that meal. Clarice thought of the little boat Hannibal had made his get-away from the lake house in. It really was remarkable how they never managed to spot it with their searchlights and with the added lighting of the 4th of July fireworks. That had been a point of many laughs throughout their marriage. 


End file.
